


Rituals

by xaviermarch



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: M/M, the whole thing is vague..., very vague and mild descriptions of violence jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaviermarch/pseuds/xaviermarch
Summary: This ritual is old, too old. You don’t think you want to stop because that’s the only way you know. You’re good at it too, it always goes along to your twisted plan.





	Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> this short fic is inspired by [this picture](https://68.media.tumblr.com/43ebd7e48575c25d3ea49dcefefa693b/tumblr_o7ipl90OYJ1qetsito1_1280.jpg) (obvious credit to owners) 
> 
> i spent a lot of time thinking about it in this context and maybe one day i'll turn it into something longer but oh well it was written in september and i am a changed man now...

It started as a simple argument, it always does. A result of built-up tension that was slowly boiling up for weeks. You haven’t said too much to each other for three days.   
You keep glancing at him from the corner of your eye, so he stares at you. Because he stares at you, you just want to grab his hair and smash his face into a wall, but you have more self-control than _that_. So you just try to out-do him and you stare at him even more, trying to see what it would trigger.

He gives you a nasty look.

“What?” he spits.

You don’t answer.

Before you know it, you’re trying to avoid him jumping on you. You grab him by the collar of his shirt, trying to not get too close, and aim to back him up against a wall. You stare him down, feeling victorious until he kicks your leg and wriggles out of your grasp, grabbing you down towards the floor. A mess of shoves and punches ensues.

You back off, your mouth tastes like metal, and your bottom lip is bleeding. He has a bruise around his eye and some blood is dripping down his nose. A momentarily distraction, and you find _yourself_ backed up against the wall. He grabs you by the wrists until it hurts, the very touch burns you. He’s standing too close, breathing into your face. You close your eyes and stop trying to free your arms. _That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?_

You suddenly feel his tongue on your lips, licking your lips, licking your jaw. “Don’t…” you mutter. He frees your wrists but you’re not moving away, so he kisses you properly, you reciprocate.

That kiss hurts, too much teeth, too much grasping, too much blood. You pull him closer and closer like you’re trying to pull him into your chest. He’s panting into your ear, putting his leg between yours, you gasp.

 

This ritual is old, too old. You don’t think you want to stop because that’s the only way you know. You’re good at it too, it always goes along to your twisted plan.


End file.
